Come Around
by domina tempore
Summary: There were downsides to Peter's "reassignment"; the cramped warehouse, the snotty interns, the crappy coffee - he hadn't thought it could get that bad. But on the upside, he'd never eaten better than the three nights a week Neal came over to help with dinner. Post "Most Wanted", no slash!


**White Collar:** _Come Around_

_Disclaimer: White Collar and all of its characters, locations, etc. belong to their respective owners; I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement intended!_

_Author's Note: This, oddly enough, was my reaction to the very end of Most Wanted (after the moment of shock, then disbelief, and the embarrassing display of both because HEY THAT ENDING). Also,I'm a sucker for family stuff. And I wanted to get it posted before the new episode airs tonight and no one is interested anymore, haha. _

_Also, shout out to my fantastic beta, __**IuvenesCor **__on AO3, for being endlessly patient with me and my jerky writing spells. Any mistakes are mine alone!_

*~.~*

Peter came home to the smell of fancy cooking.

That had been happening a lot over the past few weeks since he'd returned from the islands (every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday night, to be precise). He was starting to think that Neal felt guilty about Elizabeth losing a friend when Moz didn't come back, and was trying to make up for it by invading the Burke home to keep her company in his friend's place. He _knew_ that Neal felt guilty about the current situation. But none of them really liked to talk about that; they made up for it by talking about everything but. Art, baseball, _Burke Events_, the weather, the food, the dog. Anything so they didn't have to discuss the FBI.

Elizabeth kissed him when he walked through the door, and Neal called out a distracted hello from where he was busy in the kitchen. Satchmo woofed happily and pushed his nose into Peter's hand. He rubbed the dog's ears and gave his wife his first (genuine) smile of the day. "Hey hon. What am I smelling tonight?"

She grinned. "Filet mignon, roasted rosmary potatoes, and tirimasu," she explained. "I'm finalizing the menu for a wedding on Saturday, and Neal offered to come over and help me."

Right on cue, a dark head popped out of the kitchen and saluted Peter with a spoon. "You know me, always happy to help!"

"And always willing to stay for dinner too, I suppose?" Peter grumbled fondly, shrugging out of his coat and loosening his tie.

"Well I wasn't gonna, ask; but if you're offering..."

"Shut up and cook."

Grinning, Neal disappeared back into the kitchen.

Peter sighed, shaking his head. He (probably) wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful to have Neal underfoot. Life was more interesting that way, and it lent an air of normalcy to their lives which had returned to anything but normal. Neal was making an effort to make him feel like things hadn't changed. He was over almost as often as he had been when they were still partners; Peter appreciated that Neal was there because he wanted to be, not because he needed a ride home from the office half the time. He chose to stick around, and that meant a lot.

The three of them chatted idly for a few minutes, about plans for the weekend and the wedding where Neal would, for some reason, be assisting with the food. He claimed that she'd asked for his help, and that _The Greatest Cake_ was supplying the desert menu.

"I didn't know you still owned that place."

"Peter, come on. It's the best bakery in New York; do you really think I'd give up that investment?"

"Hm. Is dinner ready yet?"

"Just about."

At Neal's instruction, Peter and Elizabeth sat down at the table, and he emerged from the kitchen dressed as a high-end waiter and speaking with an Irish accent. He served the both of them (in flawless character) before taking his place at the table and telling a story about a con that he had pulled – allegedly – on his twenty-third birthday involving a similar setup. His tale reminded Elizabeth of a gala that she had planned the year before at which the host had gotten just a bit too drunk, which brought to mind a joke Peter and his room-mate had pulled in college.

Peter looked between his wife (radiant) and his friend (quietly feeding filet mignon to the dog), and found himself grinning in a way that had nothing to do with the stories. His life was far from perfect, his job even less so, and every day that he spent in that cubicle he thought that he might actually go crazy. But coming home three times a week to this... He realized how lucky he was to have this family. And at the end of the day, that was what mattered.

It was good to be home.

_fin._


End file.
